As a loving father and adequate husband, let me say to all you LFAH’s who read that mother’s day flowers have been a disaster for me --and yet I will be polishing up a few vases to fill with lovely blossoms before the day is through.
Flowers don’t work on my wife in a normal “Here are some flowers for you, honey!” kind of way. Flowers, as far as my wife is concerned, represent peace offerings given to her after said giver has screwed up -- a precedent established long before I came into her picture.
|My mothers, and my wife's favorite|
The implication here is that my wife is not a normal woman, and I am okay with that. My wife, when receiving anything lovely and floral, will lower her eyebrows and turn her head just so. For those who have ultra-sonic hearing, like dogs and mothers-in-law, there will be a low rumble.
She will set the arrangement aside and may not speak to me for the rest of the day.
What she wants, and thank you for asking, is less of everything.
She wants me to stop storing my next creative project in the living room, if you can believe it.
She wants me to clean out my closet so there is room for the grand kids to hide in. She wants me to get rid of all the tarps and tools in the shed so the grand kids can play house in there. She wants me to lose my art from the basement so, get this, the kids can finger-paint their newly learned alphabet letters on the wall.
In short, she wants a grand kid filled life.
Now I like the grand kids as much as the next guy – more in the case of our neighbor Ivan from northern North Dakota and Canada (his ancestral home apparently tunneled under the border so he claims both countries) who has his visiting grand kids run the treadmill that produces electricity for his home.
When I have the grand kids run it is for the enjoyment of physical exercise, or because I just broke their mother’s window and I am blaming them for it.
But my gift to my grandchildren is that I will live a full and active life of collecting things and filling up closets so they can go through them when I die and say things like, “what on earth is this (fill in the blank) for?”
So I will try to clean up my act for mother's day -- take my creative project out of the living room, make the basement a little more grand kid friendly.
And my wife, after fifteen years of marriage, will be content with that. And she will pretend to like the beautiful purple irises from our garden -- where they have been growing right next to the shed where I store the old carpet, tires, and Halloween tombstones.
Which the grand kids love, BTW.